


unless

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Series: Sev's Blitz Fics 2020 [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Puppies, Secret Identity, based on a true story!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: “Only a minute,” Jimmy says, and Clint stands up and shakes himself.“This is Bucky,” he says, and jerks his chin up as if either one of them is going to argue.Lulu’s the first to ask, extending a hand. “Good to meet you,” she says, and her handshake is far too strong and confident for the town of Irwin in its entirety. Bucky nods, and sayslikewiseor something like that, because he’s aware that this is as close to meeting Clint’s parents as he’ll ever get.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Sev's Blitz Fics 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600570
Comments: 17
Kudos: 113





	unless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).



> the first of my BLITZ ROUND -- Arson asked for Winterhawk and puppies! An (1) thread of plot showed up.

Irwin, Pennsylvania, is a town for old people. No, really; Clint’s been telling him the entire drive from New York City about how retired everyone is and how any kids you see are grandchildren and any adults that aren’t grey-haired are probably visiting. He keeps obsessing about the deli on Main that sells chip-chopped ham and the weird little park with multi-directional basketball hoops, and something about the secret path behind the Giant Eagle. Bucky’s a bit bemused, at this point, at the strange things that stick in Clint Barton’s head.

Then again, Bucky knows who they’re going to visit. 

Turns out Jimmy and Lulu live a little bit outside the town - quaint, from the little bit Bucky sees - and they squirrel around some absurd hills and curves in Clint’s ridiculous and ridiculously old Ford Focus, which he bought only to watch Tony get mad when Clint parks it near the Jag. This neighborhood is quiet, peaceful; it looks like retirement, really, houses that back in Bucky’s years would have been a great family home but these days would barely hold a newly married couple. People have a lot of crap these days, Bucky’s noticed. This town still holds a bit of an echo of the older days.

Jimmy and Lulu’s house is halfway up a road that’s a bit of a hill. It’s cute, yellow brick and tons of climbing ivy; unremarkable. There’s a tree out front, some kind of blossoms; a larger oak towers at the property line, and Bucky watches a line of bushes trail off around the screened-in porch Clint is leading him to, instead of the front door. The porch is filled with some adorably mis-matching furniture, a motley collection of wicker and white plastic and cheerful pillows.

Clint pounds on the door - it sounds normal, but Bucky knows it’s some kind of code - and yells, “Jim! Lu! We’re here!”

The door opens. The guy’s older, sure; lines in his face that look worn from experience, receding hairline, and surprisingly lovely eyes that have the weight of someone who has seen a lot of shit. His - wife? Partner? - looks younger, but in that way that women can do, a careful application of skincare and hairstyle. Her eyes flick between the two of them, cataloguing and analyzing. She’s got a hint of — Chinese, Bucky thinks, gracing her features. Jimmy is bland and American and Bucky probably wouldn’t remember his face from any other old dude’s, otherwise.

“C’mon in,” says Jimmy. His voice is kind, casual, stable.

Clint follows them in and then gestures to Bucky, who awkwardly slides inside. The entrance is small, clogged by an immediate staircase into the basement and an awkwardly-placed cabinet in the surprisingly small kitchenette. It’s chintzy, cross-stitch hanging on the walls, a little table with three chairs. Jimmy and Lulu lead them through into a dining room, past some sort of living room whose couch is covered in a paisley Bucky thinks he recognizes from Stevie’s _gram_ , and into a tiny little family room that only fits a couch, a recliner, and a fucking rocking chair.

This room, at least, is full of electronics. Bucky recognizes SHIELD tech: screens along both walls, one full of security cameras, the other peacefully idle. There’s a comm station where a television is supposed to go that makes Bucky weirdly jealous. And Jimmy reaches up and wraps his arms around Clint, who leans down into him with a strange, relaxed sigh, burying his face into Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Only a minute,” Jimmy says, and Clint stands up and shakes himself.

“This is Bucky,” he says, and jerks his chin up as if either one of them is going to argue.

Lulu’s the first to ask, extending a hand. “Good to meet you,” she says, and her handshake is far too strong and confident for the town of Irwin in its entirety. Bucky nods, and says _likewise_ or something like that, because he’s aware that this is as close to meeting Clint’s parents as he’ll ever get.

Then there’s a bark, that sounds like it’s coming from behind the house, and Clint’s face lights up.

“Is that—?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy nods. “C’mon, let’s go, we can finish this part later.”

Clint makes a beeline back through the house, tumbling out the back door of the screened-in porch with Bucky on his heels. He’s glancing around frantically, trying to do the surveillance Clint has _obviously_ forgotten, and by the time Bucky’s remembered whose house this is, Clint’s down on his knees being bowled over by three enthusiastic Pembroke Welsh Corgis.

“What the,” Bucky starts, but cuts off the last word as a couple comes out of the house behind Jimmy and Lulu’s. They look like the Irwin citizens Clint’s been referring to, floral-soft and hardy. Lulu heads over to talk to them. 

Bucky watches as Clint rolls on the ground with these three dogs. Two are red-and-white; the third’s got a sleek black body and a streak down his nose. Clint’s happily wrestling with them, letting them knock him to the ground over and over again to lick his face, laughing hysterically. Bucky feels something soften in his heart; he’s already near gone on Clint Barton anyway, but there’s somethin’ about seeing him here in a pile of dogs with that innocent, happy, reckless grin on his face that makes Bucky feel like he’s seeing some side of the real Clint that — could have been, if they’d had normal childhoods, normal lives, normal occupations. 

“Hey!” Lulu calls, and the woman she’s been talking to whistles; the three dogs leave Clint reluctantly and run back. Corgis are funny-shaped, Bucky thinks. Their dumb butts bounce when they run, on those tiny-ass paws. They spring up around the woman and Lulu like weird little tennis balls. “Do you want to see them?”

“Are you _joking,_ ” Clint yells, and the look he throws Bucky is adoring and thrilled at the same time. “Yes!”

Bucky realizes Jimmy’s standing beside him. He’s on high alert - although not on active alert, at least - and he didn’t hear the man approach at all. It should alarm him, but oddly enough, Bucky feels calm here. The backyard’s rather plain, except for an unexpected grove of bamboo in the upper corner; there’s the climb of a hill he assumes is the property line between this house and the dog house. Jimmy’s silent, glancing between Clint and Lulu, the same small smile on his face.

Bucky swallows. “I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are,” says Phil Coulson.

It turns out Irwin, Pennsylvania is such a town for old people that it’s a great place for two sort-of rogue ex-SHIELD agents to hang out, recover, and decide what they want to do with the rest of their lives. Bucky knows that - _Jimmy_ \- has technically died at least twice according to SHIELD records. It’s something he can respect, having died at least twice himself.

As for - _Lulu_ , well, she’s stuck by Jimmy’s side since they slipped out here and she looks no less likely to leave than Bucky is Clint. He wonders for a second what Fury’s name is when he comes out here. Chuck? Ahab? Deuteronomy?

There’s a sound, something small and delicate and happy, that interrupts Bucky’s line of thought. He looks up just in time to see Lulu and the neighbor gently setting a box down in the yard and tipping it towards Clint, who has been waiting eagerly on his knees in the grass. It’s a box of—

It’s _puppies._ Tiny little corgi puppies, stumbling around on fat chubby legs, tiny dumb tails standing up high. Clint makes this sort of expectant whining noise Bucky has never heard him make, and will never tell him is adorable; the pups hear it, and clumsily turn to work their way in his direction, occasionally falling on round bellies or tripping on each other.

“Look, Buck!” Clint’s face is ecstatic as he immediately thumps down onto his ass, easily crossings his legs in some circus-smooth move, and dumps three of the puppies directly into his lap. He’s immediately cooing over them, laughing, teasing them with fingers and testing their puppy teeth, and with the sun bright on his hair and cheeks, Bucky thinks maybe he’s never been as in love as this moment.

“If you hurt him,” Jimmy says casually, “you know I’ll make you vanish.” There’s a pause. “Worse than before.”

 _I know,_ Bucky thinks. Even in - _retirement -_ Jimmy has enough skill and resources to rival Hydra, and better reason. 

“You won’t have to,” Bucky tells him. An’ it’s true; he and Clint may be pretty dumb at this, and they’ll hurt each other a thousand ways accidentally, but there’s no cell in his body that would ever do anything cruel to Clint on purpose. He doesn’t really know how to say all that, though, so he just meets Jimmy’s eye and waits until the other man nods. 

Clint is currently attempting to keep all of the puppies in the same area; there seem to be at least six of them, and he’s desperately losing. It makes Bucky snort, and Clint turns around to beam at him. Bucky feels his stupid heart flip over again. 

“Hey.” Bucky turns; Lulu’s approaching with something in her arms that seems to be wiggling. It’s funny in a way: the Cavalry, holding a puppy. “Here.” She unapologetically dumps the dog into Bucky’s arms; startled, he has a clumsy moment arranging the dog’s limbs and trying not to drop the poor thing. It seems smaller than its brothers and sisters over in the grass, but it’s happy to be held, and tries to lick Bucky’s jaw as he adjusts his grip.

“It’s the runt,” says Lulu, in explanation. “Faye and Ginny raise them for show and for breeding. They can’t afford to keep a dog that can't earn his keep.”

“You know what,” Bucky says, dryly amused despite himself. “I expected the shovel talk, but I didn’t come here to get bullied into a puppy.” He cups the little guy in his hands, holds him up to take a look. Giant brown eyes, his ears hopelessly flopped over, red and white and black: the little guy starts panting as Bucky meets his eyes, smiling.

“I’m just mentioning it.” Lulu tucks herself in along Jimmy’s side; he puts an arm around her. For a moment they look just like Irwin folks are supposed to look like: non-lethal. Harmless. Happy. Bucky doesn’t doubt that both of them could kill him in approximately thirteen different ways, if he let it happen.

“Buck,” Clint breathes, suddenly close: sun-close, warm-close, and Bucky can almost count the freckles high on his cheekbones. “Why do you - who’s this?”

“The runt,” Bucky says, and he gently tips the little guy into Clint’s big, waiting hands. Clint rubs his nose against the pup’s snout, giggles, cuddles him up to his own cheek.

“We don’t have room for another dog,” Bucky tells him, slowly, because there’s one hell of a terrible idea dawning on him — somethin’ he’s been thinking about for weeks now, somethin’ he’s been trying not to think about so much. “Your place is too small an’ a dog with legs that short won’t be able to get up to the loft.”

Clint sighs. “I know,” he answers, tucking the pup into his elbow and scratching its head. “They’re so cute though. And Lucky would love having a friend, you know he gets lonely.”

“You could have him for free,” calls — Faye, Bucky supposes, who’s approaching, whistling the puppy pile behind her. “We can’t afford to keep ‘em. Just looking for a good home.”

Bucky grits his teeth. He needs — to have confidence.

“I dunno,” Clint calls back to her, although his grip on the pup tightens a bit. “Bucky’s right, we don’t have much room.”

“Unless,” Bucky starts, and _fuck_ but there’s enough in his voice that they’re all turning to look at him. “Unless we got a new place.”

Clint blinks at him, a bit nonplussed. “Yours is a cardboard box, and like you said, mine’s too— _oh._ ”

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugs, a bit awkward, but it’s fading at the smile coming up on Clint’s face like a sunrise. “Our own place. I mean, if you. If you’d want to move. Together.”

He’d first thought of it a few weeks ago when Clint was off on mission and Lucky was at Kate’s and Clint’s studio apartment felt cold the first night and his own SHIELD bunk was even colder the second night. Somewhere they could fill with their own bits and pieces: their own mental shards, their own security protocols, their own tastes and preferences. Somewhere shared.

“Are you,” Clint squeaks, and his voice sounds like it did when he saw the puppies. He shoves the little runt back at Lulu and stalks over to Bucky. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tells him, his own voice low and soft. 

“Yes,” Clint tells him, and bends to kiss him, _right there,_ in the middle of Irwin, Pennsylvania and all of its retirees. 

By the time Bucky surfaces for air, everyone’s casually looking away — except for Jimmy, who’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe. Clint reaches back for the runt, scooping him up in happy arms, and—

“Yes to a new place, not to the puppy,” Bucky specifies, trying to be angry, but he knows he’s already too late.

**Author's Note:**

> SO GUESS WHAT:
> 
> \- this is based on a real story. my grandparents lived in Irwin, PA, in this specific house, and this specific thing happened to my brother and I: professional Pembroke Welsh Corgis lived in the house behind them, and when we visited they would let the dogs and puppies out to play with us. In addition, this is absolutely how we got our first dog, Macduff: the owner put the runt of the litter in my dad's arms and walked away. My dad, who had been adamant for months about not getting a dog, took him home with us that evening.
> 
> \- all OCs named in this fic are named after my family that lived in Irwin, because it makes me smile.
> 
> \- Phil and Melinda are enjoying a nice breather before they come back to play with the Avengers, don't worry.
> 
> check out the blitz round [here](https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/post/190147529523/hey-yall-spots-are-still-open), help me out [here](https://seventhe.dreamwidth.org/428417.html), help me prioritize [here](https://www.patreon.com/Sevdrag), or come yell at me on tumblr [here](https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/)!!!


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